


Forged Within the Fire of Stars

by TruthandLies



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, First Meetings, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, New Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:06:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22092280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruthandLies/pseuds/TruthandLies
Summary: A series of New Year's in the life of Carmilla Karnstein.
Relationships: Carmilla Karnstein/Elle Sheridan, Carmilla/Laura (Carmilla), Laura Hollis/Carmilla Karnstein
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	Forged Within the Fire of Stars

For countless decades, the New Year was marked in blood.

She attended lavish balls dressed in high-collared black gowns, where she drank deep of crimson wine and danced in the flickering darkness of candlelit marble halls. 

Always watching. 

Always waiting.

Waiting until some young plaything sauntered onto the dance floor, her cheeks a ruby red and her skirts a little too short. Short enough to hike higher in a game of cat-and-mouse.

Carmilla would sway onto the dance floor, her black heels sliding against the marble. In circles and swirls, she would dance closer and closer to her prey.

The play-creature never got too close to men. As they approached, she giggled and batted her eyes, but smacked away their wandering hands. Forever slipping away toward the edges of the floor. 

Closer to Carmilla.

Carmilla’s fangs would throb and her throat would slicken. She would lift her arms and sway closer, too, until she captured her plaything’s eyes.

No matter the color, those eyes always widened when they caught sight of Carmilla. The gaze would slide along Carmilla’s dress, a dress that hugged each of Carmilla’s curves. And the eyes would darken, as if brushed with the midnight paint of lust.

Carmilla’s smile would stretch and curl. She would swirl in soft circles to her prey. Close enough to bask in the girl’s heat. Close enough to brush against her, breast-to-breast.

The girl’s breath would hitch. Her gaze would dip beneath luscious lashes. And she would curl her arms around Carmilla’s neck.

Talking was never an issue.

Carmilla captured her plaything’s gaze and held on tight, speaking a million promises with just one look.

The clock ticked time. The partygoers chanted down from ten. The New Year sprang.

Carmilla would slide her hand upward to her plaything’s. With a feline smile, she would quirk her head toward the roof. Where the stars splashed their silver light upon the balcony. “Let’s go somewhere private to celebrate,” she’d whisper.

The girl always stumbled after her, caught in Carmilla’s hypnotic vortex.

Carmilla lured her plaything to the roof, where the starlight danced upon their skin. And then she lured her plaything into her arms.

Her hands wandered to her plaything’s skirt, hitching it higher. Her mouth wandered to her plaything’s lips, tasting crimson wine. 

The girl gasped and kissed her harder, pushing herself into Carmilla’s arms.

A warmth would drift through Carmilla’s chest. A warmth spelled from the fires of awe. As if maybe in a different life, this could be a different game. The girl’s kiss could save Carmilla from the torments of a hell she still didn’t understand.

But it was never a different game.

And Carmilla’s mouth watered for more than kisses. For more than the taste of crimson wine.

So on each New Year, as the crowd inside cheered for new beginnings, Carmilla would break away from the girl’s lips. She would trace kisses along the girl’s jaw. And then she would settle her mouth on the girl’s pulse point, that throbbing pulse of life that beat beneath the skin. And she would puncture it with her fangs, moaning at the taste of blood.

A taste divine.

It didn’t matter who she was. Carmilla’s prey was always soft on the outside, like a delectable pastry, and filled with rich copper cream. 

Her prey would groan. And then whimper. And then quiet and go limp, her pulse a bare murmur beneath her skin.

Satiated, Carmilla would lower her plaything to the starlit floor. And lick her lips, turning to gaze at the lights that glowed so many lifetimes away.

* * *

The richness of crimson wine grew diluted the night one of Carmilla’s playthings grew weak beneath her bite and began to spasm.

Carmilla ripped her fangs from the girl’s throat and fell with her to the balcony, pressing her fingertips to the girl’s pinprick wounds. Attempting to stifle the flow of blood.

But the blood pooled through her fingers, refusing to quench.

The girl’s spasms stilled and she gasped the final breath of her young life. On a night that ticked down time to new beginnings, hers was an untimely end.

Carmilla’s shoulders spasmed, taking up the girl’s pain. Her eyes bled with tears. _What am I doing? What have I done?_

The stars were blurry that night. The taste of wine rancid and stale.

After that, she stopped baptizing the New Year in blood. She let her playthings dance while she hid in the shadows, contemplating all things dark.

* * *

On a New Year’s night many decades later, Carmilla avoided the thrall of the dance floor for the comfort of the mansion library. With a glass of champagne in hand, she traced the smooth spines of so many books with the tip of her finger. Words were living, breathing truths, longing to be embraced.

The uplifting lilt of a waltz wafted through the doorway. She tapped her foot, humming the melody, and settled her finger on a book of philosophy. Her throat slickened at the thought of its truths. It held within it the promise of humanity.

She slipped the book from the shelf and opened it to reveal its silken pages.

But the patter of footsteps stopped her from savoring its words.

“What do I really know about anyone else’s inner life or lack thereof,” said a rich voice, accentuating the curve and angle of each of her words, “except what their words and acts seem to reveal?”

Carmilla’s life force pounded into her throat. _René Descartes. The speaker knows philosophy._ She slid the book back onto the shelf and turned to face the woman. “You quote great knowledge,” she said, sipping from her glass of champagne. The drink was frothy and light upon her tongue. “How come you to be acquainted with the philosophers?”

The woman stepped slowly into the library’s light, revealing skin of deep cream and eyes that flickered as with eternal fire. “What I wonder,” she said, a smile playing at the corner of her ruby lips, “is what your words and actions reveal about you, Carmilla Karnstein.”

Carmilla’s champagne skipped in her glass. “You know me?”

The woman drew closer, her smile growing more curled. “I have been watching you all night. You avoid the company of others for the solitude of books, and retreat to the deepness of human thought over the playthings of fantasy or fiction. You, my dear, are a riddle.”

 _Clearly, she has not watched me closely enough._ “I am an abomination,” she said, stepping backward an involuntary step. This creature was coming much too close. “Be careful who you watch.”

The girl’s smile slid into a smirk. “Perhaps.” She took another step closer. “But an abomination who chooses the beauty of language and thought over the lurid pull of debauchery, as so many are doing just outside this door, is one I should like to know better.”

The music kicked upward in tempo, its harmonic thrill dancing across Carmilla’s body. On a New Year not too long ago, she would have lured this woman to the balcony and tasted the pulse that skipped beneath her skin. _Interesting how I wish nothing more tonight than to drink of the words that leave her lips._ “And you are?”

“I am Elle.” The woman reached for Carmilla’s glass. Slipping it from her fingers, she raised it to her lips and took a sip. “Mmm.” She drew her tongue across her lips. “And tonight, I am yours.”

The harmonic thrill dipped inside Carmilla’s chest, increasing in tempo. “Then tell me, Elle, what else you know of the philosophers.”

Elle grinned. “Gladly.”

They spent the New Year curled up in the library’s leather seats, discussing philosophers and poets. Carmilla found excuses to curl closer to Elle. To place her hand on Elle’s arm. To lean in and breathe Elle’s fiery scent. Her throat slickened, but for reasons entirely different than on other New Year's. Her gaze wandered to Elle’s plush ruby lips. _What would it be like to taste them?_

When the clock began to chime and the crowd began to chant, Carmilla stood and held out her hand. “I always welcome the New Year beneath the stars. Care to join me?”

Elle slid her hand into Carmilla’s. “Lead the way.”

And so they ascended the stairs to the balcony, where the stars cast their silver shine. And Elle never once let go of Carmilla’s hand.

A whisper of heat filled Carmilla. For the first time, she felt as though she might step into the flames of life and emerge unscorched.

“Do you know,” Elle said, placing her cheek on Carmilla’s shoulder, “that I believe the stars to be great philosophers who have ascended into the heavens to cast their light upon all who remain on Earth.” 

The whisper of heat fanned itself into a spark. “Elle,” Carmilla whispered, shifting so that she gazed down at the woman whose hand was linked with hers.

Elle returned her gaze. Innocence. And beauty. Everything Carmilla believed she’d forfeited, staring back at her through Elle’s eyes.

Carmilla kissed her. 

Elle’s lips were plush and soft and tasted slightly of champagne. Savoring the taste, Carmilla caressed her cheek and stepped forward into the fire of new beginnings.

* * *

But with new beginnings come unexpected endings, cold and brutal.

As it was when Elle discovered Carmilla’s secret. The abomination of which Carmilla had spoken on their first night was not untruth.

Carmilla was an abomination. Had been an abomination from the night she awoke in a coffin with fangs, thirsting for life. Had continued to be an abomination every time she stole life from another.

She was a monster. 

A fact Elle confirmed when she sliced her hand with a knife and thrust it toward Carmilla’s lips.

Carmilla loved that hand.

She loved the woman who held it out, begging her to prove she was not a monster.

But the blood pouring from Elle’s wound was too powerful. The thirst wetting Carmilla’s throat was too strong. And she could not stop her fangs from elongating, proving her to be exactly what Elle accused.

She was a monstrous beast.

The fire in Elle’s eyes turned cold. So cold, it was scorching.

Carmilla burned in the flames.

And then, a few days later, when Elle refused to allow Carmilla to protect her in a world where monsters crept through the starless darkness, the fire in Elle’s eyes went out. A fire that would have kindled and sparked for decades longer had Carmilla not coerced her into a world of beasts.

It was all Carmilla’s fault.

She was an abomination. And the only woman she had ever loved was dead by her hand. Dead because she had seen the truth of Carmilla and could not bring her innocent, beautiful heart to love her.

Who could love a monster?

Who could love Carmilla?

Something dark and twisted coiled through Carmilla, cutting off her life force. She spent the next eternity buried in a darkness she could not shatter, drowning in the brutality of blood.

When she emerged from that darkness in an explosion of fire, she was a different creature.

Darkness was reality. Death an accepted fact. And she, Carmilla Karnstein, was doomed to spend eternity as a pawn in Death’s games.

Or so she believed.

Until she found Laura. A girl who, beyond all reasons fathomable, dared to love a monster.

* * *

They spent their first New Year trekking through the snowy mountains of the Alps, on the run from the darkness Carmilla could not shake.

As they hiked, Carmilla carved her teeth into the inside of her cheek, hiding the fear that this optimistic creature would wake up and realize she followed Death’s puppet toward a future tangled in strings. 

But Laura never pulled away. When Carmilla fell behind, lost in thought that weighted her down into the snow, Laura waited. And when Carmilla caught up, Laura laced their fingers together. “Don’t worry, Carm,” she said, warming Carmilla’s hands between both of her own. “We’ll find a place to rest soon.”

Carmilla stared at her. “You do realize rest never comes to the wicked, right?” She arched a brow. “And that you’re following the wicked toward an uncertain doom?”

If anything happened to Laura because of her, she’d sacrifice herself to the angriest of beasts without any prodding from Death.

But Laura gifted Carmilla one of her secret smiles. “You’re not wicked. And I’d pretty much follow you anywhere. So if we’re headed toward doom, lead the way.”

A winter wind whistled through the mountains, sprinkling goose bumps along Carmilla’s skin. “Laura. If anything happens – if the darkness caves in, and we find ourselves trapped – you need to leave me and run.”

_I will not let her die._

But Laura turned to her, a stubborn glint cutting into her brown eyes. “Carmilla Karnstein. If we find ourselves trapped by demon or hell beast, I swear to you, I will not leave. Not until I’ve fought with everything I’ve got and freed us both.”

“Don’t you dare.” Carmilla summoned into her own eyes an ire forged from centuries living in the darkness of hell. “If anything happens, promise me you’ll save yourself. Because you’re the only thing that matters.”

Laura shook her head. “Don’t you get it? If anything happens to you, I’d rather be swallowed by the nearest hell mouth.”

A warmth settled into Carmilla’s chest, in direct defiance of the frozen landscape. She lifted Laura’s hand to her lips, settling kisses upon her knuckles. “Why do you fight for me? After everything I’ve done – ”

“Enough.” Laura squeezed Carmilla’s hand. “I don’t care what you’ve done, Carm. I care who you are. And who you are is breathtaking.”

Laura gazed at Carmilla through eyes glinting as with the shine of stars. It lit the warmth in Carmilla’s chest with the spell of hope. She closed her eyes and breathed it in, the beauty created by this girl who held her hand and her silent heart.

And then, when she realized they’d been standing in the snow confessing feelings heavy and unyielding, she swallowed down the emotion clouding her throat and curved her lips into a smirk. “How can you find me breathtaking when I have no breath?”

Her words were met by Laura’s lips, a kiss that sealed the warmth deep inside Carmilla’s soul. “I have breath enough for us both,” Laura whispered into the kiss.

Later that night, when they’d found a temporary refuge inside an abandoned inn, Carmilla curled up with Laura beneath a blanket and gazed through a large window at the gathering stars.

“If you could have any wish,” Laura said, settling her cheek upon Carmilla’s chest,” what would it be?”

New Year's past flickered through Carmilla’s mind. Carnage. And blood. And darkness. And falling in love with a girl who learned to see Carmilla as nothing other than a monster.

And then there was Laura.

The girl who learned Carmilla’s abominable truth, but did not run away. The girl who fought to keep her safe. The girl who believed Carmilla deserved something better than the horror story her world had become.

Carmilla traced her fingertips through Laura’s soft, silken hair. “I’ve already got everything I’ve ever wanted, Creampuff.”

A low hum vibrated through Laura’s throat. “So do I,” she murmured.

Carmilla melted into Laura’s arms. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year.”

They held each other as the sky turned dark and stars sprinkled across the heavens, ushering in the fires of a new beginning.

* * *

With Laura, the world turned to flame. They burned the darkness that followed them and basked in the heat of their unconditional love.

A year after their snowy trek through the Alps, they celebrated the New Year in an apartment in Toronto.

Night fell and Laura turned on her webcam. “Hello, loyal viewers,” she said, waving at the camera, “and welcome to the end of one year and the beginning of another. Bonus? This year, we don’t have to worry about getting swallowed by the mouth of hell. Yay!”

Carmilla bit down on a chuckle. _Always finding those scary rays of hope._ Savoring the sounds of Laura’s voice, she stepped out onto the balcony and lifted her gaze to the stars.

For centuries, the New Year had been marked by blood.

Now, everything was different. The New Year was marked by Laura’s voice and by the coolness of the Canadian night.

“Doubt thou the stars are fire,” Carmilla whispered, watching a star streak across the sky, “doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar. But never doubt I love.”

“What was that?” Laura stepped out onto the balcony, carrying two glasses of hot chocolate.

Carmilla accepted the drink, which steamed within its cup. “I was wondering,” she said, sipping the sweet liquid, “if you’d care to have a dance?”

A slow grin spread across Laura’s face, not unlike the stars that streaked across the heavens. “A waltz?”

Carmilla’s heart thumped. “Of course.” She placed her glass on the rail of the balcony and held out her hand. “M’lady?”

Laura slid her hand into Carmilla’s. “I’d waltz with you anywhere, Carmilla Karnstein,” she said, placing her cup next to Carmilla’s.

“Mmm.” Carmilla pulled Laura closer, until Laura’s breath danced across her face. “Then let the dance commence.”

She pressed her lips together and hummed a tempo rich and lifting. And then she swept with the love of her many lifetimes across the balcony, as the stars smiled down upon them with their silver glow.


End file.
